


The harmless Albatross

by elentari7



Series: The first rule of flying [5]
Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: (FINALLY), (now things can START HAPPENING), Flashbacks, Reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elentari7/pseuds/elentari7
Summary: August 2522Trust is earned, and so are secrets.





	1. Deadwood

**Author's Note:**

> CW for mentions and aftermath of human experimentation and torture, per Firefly canon. And one scene in which an alcoholic relapses.

_Castiel_

Castiel’s become confused and worried and somewhat distracted by the time they reach Deadwood. So of course that’s where he encounters the added complication that--no matter what everyone says--Kevin and Linda Tran have not left the ship.

It started after the incident on Lilac, which should not have rattled Castiel as much as it did. He can’t exactly say he’s seen _worse_ than the aftermath of Reavers, but he has seen enough, in his time, and ought to be able to deal with it. He wasn’t personally connected to any of the victims. He didn’t have to shoot someone he knew, or watch his crewmate kill a friend to save him. But he did, in the panic of the moment, use his own life as a shield for Dean’s. He doesn’t know why he made that split-second decision, but he knows he would not change it, and both these facts unsettle him.

Meanwhile, Charlie now hugs him. Benny looks at him differently. Everyone does, a little. Even Kevin has been speaking to him, directly, out loud. Dean will hardly break eye contact, a complete turnaround from the beginning of their acquaintance.

Even so, Castiel feels surprise each time he’s treated as one of the crew, rather than a guest. He is surprised when he’s personally introduced to their contact on Deadwood--a slouchy man with strange clothes and strange hair who goes by Ash--as Cas. He’s surprised when Dean approaches him, as he’s packing, and says “So, that offer to stay on...I mean, you asked, before. I’m offering.” He’s surprised when Dean looks him in the eye and asks “You wanna stay?” He’s surprised that he automatically wants to say yes.

He’s less surprised that the Trans do not leave with Ash as scheduled. Or rather, that after they leave he brings them surreptitiously back. But it _is_ a complication.

***

_Dean_

This is such a spectacularly bad idea Dean can’t believe anyone’s letting him get away with it. Much less _supporting_ it. There’s a plan. Unspeakably important things, like his brother’s life, depend on following the plan. Bringing in an outsider to stay? Definitely not part of the plan.

But it’s Cas, and somehow that makes it different. Hell if Dean knows why.

Sometime in the last couple of months Cas has become as much a fixture on Impala as anyone else aboard. Dean sees evidence of it every time he turns around, and at this point he’s starting to forget to feel surprised. He _actually_ goes to talk to Gabriel. Meg has _more than one_ nickname for him. Charlie and Jo _let him_ hang out in their space. Benny...well, Dean’s not sure what Benny’s deal is. When Dean asks, he just says “Keepin’ you alive is a full-time job, brother. Always nice t’ have more help,” and Dean throws a chopstick at him.

Cas did, though. Keep Dean alive.

Ok, so he knows why things with Cas are different.

Of course the decision to ask Cas to stay on isn’t all Dean’s, but everyone’s being unhelpful. Or rather, everyone seems pretty positive about it, but when he asks they just look at him like he’s the reason this is a dilemma in the first place. Even Linda Tran, who’s got her freaking kid to think about. “It’s _your_ brother you’re worrying about,” she says.

He looks to Kevin, who, wonder of wonders, looks right back. “You should talk to Sam.”

Like he hadn’t been going to do that.

Sam only knows Dean trusts Cas, so of course they can’t kick him out. This is unnerving, too. Sam never used to be so understanding about Dean’s trust.

So they land at the outpost on Deadwood, as planned, and they unload crates into Ash’s storerooms, as planned, and Kevin and Linda say their thank yous and goodbyes, as planned, and then Dean has private chat with Ash about how they’re changing the plan. Ash rolls with it, because that’s what Ash does. “If you’re sure, man,” he says. “Hey, you want me to tell Ellen they’ll need another place setting?”

“If you can do it without anyone overhearing,” Dean agrees. The thought of Ellen’s reaction if they turn up at Sanctuary with a stranger and no warning makes him wince.

Ash is insulted. “No one listens in on my lines if I don’t want ’em to!”

***

_Castiel_

Castiel says yes to Dean’s offer, of course. He feels some exasperation but no surprise that Dean then waits until they’re out of Deadwood’s orbit before prying open the storage containers Ash had loaded into Impala’s belly, Kevin and Linda clambering out of them.

They’re all anxious about his reaction, Castiel can tell. He isn’t sure how best to dispel their anxiety--other people worrying about his good opinion isn’t a familiar scenario--so he just says hello. “Are you safe now?” he asks Kevin, who stares at him.

“Um.” he says. “Hopefully?”

Dean coughs behind him, apparently caught off-guard. “You--you’re not--?”

“How long, Clarence?” Meg drawls. Everyone looks to her. She rolls her eyes. “How long’ve you known we’re carrying fugitives?”

“They only disembarked for an hour,” Castiel replies. “And they came back on board disguised as luggage. You’re trying to mislead _some_ one."

Meg shrugs in acknowledgment. The others look variously guilty (Kevin), impressed (Linda), and a strange mixture of worried and relieved (everyone else). “Well,” Charlie says. “This is kind of embarrassing.”

“I only noticed because I’m watching from the inside,” he assures her, which is true enough. This crew is clearly practiced at working covertly, at sleight of hand. They’ve gotten lax about hiding that from him. “Thank you,” he adds. “For trusting me with this.” He means it earnestly, which brings the confusion and worry and distraction of being treated like he belongs right back to the forefront of his mind. 

“Wouldn’tve let you stay if we didn’t trust you.” Dean’s watching him steadily. It feels strangely monumental: this man trusts him. Well, Castiel did save his life. “And since you’re staying…” Nobody moves, but there is the impression of the whole crew leaning into Dean, standing behind him. Even Kevin and Linda are looking to him. “...you’ve gotta know everything.” He jerks his head, indicating that Castiel should follow him, and heads for the stairs.

Castiel is about to be shown something irrevocable, he knows. Something he could not be shown if Dean were not certain he were staying. If he were not really one of the crew.

He follows Dean to the port shuttle, because of course it was this.

Dean knocks on the door in a quick pattern before he turns the handle. And then he takes a steadying breath before opening the door. Castiel is taking stock of the shuttle’s interior before Dean finishes saying, “C’mon in, Cas. There’s someone you’ve gotta meet.”

It isn’t disused or choked with dust at all. It’s done up as comfortably as can be, short of Gabriel’s Companion luxury. Cozy, might be the word. It’s spare but there are no hard edges to be seen. A boy--a man--occupies the lone fraying beanbag on the floor, and unfolds himself at the sight of Castiel. Castiel is not short. Dean is taller than him. This person seems to tower over Dean, even though the difference in their heights can’t be more than a few inches--it’s something about the proportion of his limbs, and the posture of his shoulders as he tries not to tower _too_ much. Castiel makes note of all these details automatically, his brain working by rote. At the moment it doesn't feel capable of working in any other manner.

Meanwhile, Dean is hovering between him and the tall man--boy?--nervously.

The young man himself regards Castiel with inquisitive, piercing eyes, and Castiel stiffens, but then his expression transforms into a much less uncanny smile. “Dean talks about you more every week.” Castiel blinks, and Dean makes a muffled sound that would be a yelp, if he let it out of his mouth. The young man also blinks, and adds an earnest “Nice to meet you.” And then, “Thanks for not letting him get eaten, by the way.”

Castiel finds himself nodding. He says, “Hello.”

Dean is running his hands through his hair, sighing loudly in something that looks like exasperation, but sounds like relief. He looks up at the young man, and then, with finality, back at Castiel.

“Cas, this is my brother Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! ...this series is still alive!
> 
> I'd let it languish for a long time b/c I haven't actually been invested in Supernatural anymore for years now; but I had this whole series plot and all these details planned out and a huge document full of outlines, all going to waste...couldn't let that continue forever! And I recently began working on a massive writing project that is very dear to my heart and will not be done for ages, so that's motivated me to write snippets of other things as a break xD
> 
> Series updates will be sporadic, but the rest of this fic is almost ready to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is the chapter to which the warnings apply)

_Dean_  
_One and a half years ago_

The first vision came in the middle of a job.

Sammy’d never had great timing.

All Dean knew before he blacked out was lights and gleaming metal and pain, pain, _pain_.

He woke up to a job gone completely sideways, every single member of his crew doing their equivalent of collapsing on him in relief—Charlie literally collapsing on him, Jo punching him, Benny clapping him on the shoulder, Meg rolling her eyes—and a splitting headache. He didn’t have any answers to their _what happened_ s and _what’s wrong_ s. He was pretty embarrassed about it, actually, and furious with himself, but he knew he had pretty good instincts and they would not let go of the feeling of _wrong_. He hoped it wouldn’t happen again.

It only took a week.

The same lights, the same room, more pain. And a horrifying sense of familiarity.

After the third vision he told Benny what he was seeing, who didn’t have any more of an idea than he did what to make of it. He didn’t know how to explain the _knowledge_ that came with the visions—that they were hurting us. He didn’t know who “us” was, or “they”. He was afraid he was going crazy.

The fourth vision came in his sleep, and it was different.

A hallway. (Same lights, though.) A door. A nametag on it that read Campbell S.

He bolted awake in a cold sweat, knowing he should know that name.

Finally, in the fifth vision, the sender managed to get himself in front of a reflective surface, and when Benny grabbed his shoulder and shook him out of it where he was collapsed onto all fours in the middle of the cargo bay, Dean—for the first time in more than four years—said his brother’s name.

***

 _Kevin_  
_Six months ago_

The tall guy just stood there in the corner of the room while Kevin took readings. It was starting to creep him out.

“I’d be able to give you more information if I could examine the patient fully conscious,” he said, though he felt like this should be obvious. He managed not to add _and not locked inside a box_. That was probably  _too_ obvious.

“Got a boat to catch.” Tall guy shrugged with one shoulder, the other leaned against the door frame. “Can’t yank him out of stasis premature.”

Kevin suppressed the urge to correct tall guy’s grammar. What was so difficult about adverbs, seriously? “Well, according to the internal monitors, physically everything seems to be fine.”

“And…other than physically?” Tall guy’s shoulders hunched as though against a gale.

“That’s what I’d need him conscious for.”

“There’s no way to check before he wakes up?”

Kevin sighed. “Any imaging I could do of his brain while he’s inside this thing and I’m outside it would be rudimentary.”

“Better than nothing.”

For god’s sake.

Kevin ran the scan, while tall guy fidgeted and glanced at the clock every two seconds. The results told him exactly what any rational person would expect them to. “Well, he’s not braindead.”

“That it?”

“Unless you have the twenty-four hours until he comes out of stasis to spare.” Tall guy dragged a hand down his face. “Or want to go to the hospital. The neurology department’ll have access to much more—”

“No thanks.” Tall guy reached for the handles of the cart on which the shipping container rested. “Ain’t got that kind of time or money.” He winked. “That’s why I came to you.”

Kevin huffed, crossly, because medical students did _not_ actually exist to be a cheap option. Acting like they were was hugely unethical, actually, he shouldn’t have done this anyway, but tall guy had caught him alone, studying late, everyone else already gone home for the night, and he’d been…not threatening, exactly, at least not on purpose, but extremely insistent. _You’re the only one here, you gotta help me out._ All his reports and reviews agreed--Kevin was driven and competent, academically, but needed to work on being decisive when dealing with actual patients.

Kevin shuffled the scans, ready to get rid of them, but paused over the middle one of the five. “Huh.”

Tall guy suddenly went tense. “Something.”

Kevin squinted. “I’m…not sure.” He tilted the scan, held the first one up next to it. The anomaly in brain activity was subtle, muted by the enforced unconsciousness of stasis and not in an expected place or manner, which was why he’d initially overlooked it. But it was there. “It’s not very—this is unusual. It could be something?” He shook his head. “If it is I have no idea what it means.”

Tall guy’s hands clenched and unclenched a few times around the cart handles, and his eyes darted back and forth between the container and the clock. “Look…uh, Kev.” Kevin winced. Tall guy plucked the scans from his hands, shuffled them around a bit, clearly had no idea what he was looking at, and handed them back. “Stare at ’em a little more, when you have the time, and let me know if you have any breakthroughs or something.” There was contact info, though no ID of any kind, caught between the pages. “And, uh…patient confidentiality applies, right?”

“Not a doctor yet.” Kevin was almost too absorbed in frowning at the minute anomaly in the scans to notice tall guy’s increased agitation. “But yeah. Yeah, I’ll let you know, if I find anything, mister…?” He looked up, but the tall guy in too-big clothes that hid his body and too-big cap that shadowed his green eyes had taken his storage container on wheels and left the door swinging behind him. Kevin huffed again. Oh, he definitely shouldn’t have done this. But—his eye was drawn back to the scans—this was something weird. And he couldn’t let it go without figuring out _what_.

_***_

_Charlie_  
_Five months ago_

There were good days and bad days, Charlie knew. And there were days that swung wildly and without warning between the extremes. And it was seriously starting to shred her nerves.

She didn’t even feel like she had a right to it, because Sam’s bad days were clearly worst for Sam himself. He would be found tucked into places too small for his lanky frame—the smuggler’s compartment, under the counter in the infirmary, a corner of the unused shuttle—silent, quivering, completely unable to distinguish between real and not real. When he snapped out of it he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say what he’d been seeing. He would cringe violently away from ordinary objects, or someone who wasn’t there. Charlie knew for a fact he had nightmares.

And on his good days, she liked him. He loved Impala, spending more time with her than with the people on board her, which Charlie could sympathize with. There was so obviously a brilliant brain under there—under all the layers of confusion and hallucination and memory loss and memories he’d rather were lost—and the sparks of interest, of excitement, of joy that she managed to draw out of him were blindingly bright. But they were unpredictable, short-lived as Sam’s lucidity, and invariably snuffed by waves of fear, uncertainty, guilt.

Charlie wasn't sure he even knew what he felt guilty for.

But the worst part for Charlie wasn’t Sam, bad as she felt admitting that to herself. Jo had a bit more perspective on the younger Winchester, and Charlie could tell how deeply she was troubled, but Charlie hadn’t known him before, never met the kid Jo knew. The worst part for her was Dean.

He held his brother when he cried. He soothed him when he startled. He searched frantically for him when he hid even though he knew all his hiding places and that Sam refused point-blank to leave the ship. He brought Sam all his meals, sat with him through them. He slept on the floor in his own room because he couldn’t put Sam to bed someplace he couldn’t check on him in the night. He was haunted by memories that he had and Sam didn’t anymore, not all the time anyway, or by ones they’d never shared. Charlie could see the guilt eating away at him in the shadows under his eyes, and the latent hurt and anger that had never been dealt with, and the extra guilt for daring to still feel all that when his brother was so catastrophically hurt, himself. It was never assuaged by the _you came_ s that Sam whispered into his shoulder after particularly bad episodes, Dean the only person he always recognized, nor by the aching, hollow _I’m sorry_ s he gave him in his lucid moments. Charlie thought they might actually be making it worse.

Dean was spiraling, and though Charlie had glared at Meg when she’d bluntly said they needed to work again if they wanted to eat anytime soon, she did have a point. Charlie was starting to worry about that compression coil. Then Charlie found Dean well on his way to blackout drunk in the common area and decided enough was enough.

“Well,” she said, plopping down next to him. “This is healthy.”

Dean didn’t even groan in exasperation. This was _bad_. “Do I need to call in reinforcements? It’s super dumb of you to be doing this in the common area, Benny’d throw your bottle out the airlock and be turning your room over for your stash if he saw you.”

Dean only slumped. Charlie hesitated briefly before reaching out to pluck his bottle from his hands. She met minimal resistance. Small favors? “You’re no help to anybody hammered.”

A strangled snort, if such a sound were physically possible. “Yeah, ’cause I’m such a great help _not_ hammered.”

Charlie was starting to panic. Being there for Dean was what she did. She gave him advice, he called her _your highness_ , it was their whole thing. Plumbing the depths of his previously unseen despair, though? Not something she was prepared for. “Shut up, silly, you’re our captain. Where d’you think we’d be without you?”

His breath shuddered in his chest. “Someplace better.”

She slapped his arm, which finally made him move—he started in sluggish drunken surprise. “There is no place better than Impala! You watch your mouth about my girl!”

He blinked, frowned. “ _My_ girl.”

“Your baby,” Charlie corrected. “My girl. And you are totally not deserving her at the moment.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “Yeah, I’m not.”

Charlie hesitated. “I meant the being slobbering drunk and badmouthing her.” He shook his head. She waited.

“She was dad’s.” Dean’s voice was muffled by his hands. “Dad left her to me, Dad left and Sammy left and I let him go and now he’s back and he’s hiding from what’s in his own fucking head and I don’t know how to…” he choked on the stream of words, had to get his breath back. “A whole year. A whole _year_ I thought I just had to get to him, get him safe…and now…” His hands fluttered, empty of any drink to knock back. Charlie slid the bottle behind the couch.

“Now you need to get to bed,” she told him, looping a heavy arm over her shoulders. “Sleep this off and look forward to your spectacular hangover.” She’d never ever seen Dean hungover but she was pretty sure it was gonna happen this time.

Getting Dean to stand up in this state, much less walk across the mess area in something resembling a straight line, was a Herculean labor. Why were none of the muscle-y people awake when she needed them?

At least stuffing him down the hatch to his cabin she had gravity on her side.

Dumping him on the bed, she tugged off Dean’s boots, unbuckled the belt on which his holster hung, sat down on the mattress next to him with a bounce. It startled him into eye contact, and she made him hold it. “Y’know, I’d never have met Impala if it weren’t for you.” She nudged his arm. “Or any of the rest of the crew. I’d still be drifting.” She’d hug him, but he was horizontal. She squeezed his arm instead. “Not just me. All of us.” Dean blinked at her, but she was letting him figure this one out himself. “You are so lucky Jo’s not the one giving you this speech. Sleep, dummy.”

“Yes, your highness.” Charlie grinned at the nickname; sarcasm was a good sign. She squeezed his hand, and his eyes fluttered shut.

She turned to extract the sheet from under his legs to find Sam slipping down the hatch with a muffled _clink_. His eyes flicked from her to Dean, and he shuffled over to disentangle the sheets and pull them up to his brother’s chin. Charlie gave him a tentative smile. “I’ve gotta catch some z’s. You gonna be ok?”

Sam turned his eyes on her, face gone pinched and troubled. “I don’t know.”

Charlie didn’t really have anything to say to that.

“Bed for you too?” she asked, and Sam pulled out the mat Dean had been sleeping on for the last few weeks. “Yeah. Bed.” He pulled a spare blanket over himself. “Thanks...”

“Charlie,” she supplied, because he was still looking up at her.

“I know,” he answered, and lay down.

When she looked back down at the Winchester boys from halfway up the hatch, she saw Sam’s sprawl coiled into a tight ball, a single lump under his blanket.

She retrieved the bottle Dean had been drinking from and poured it out before going to bed.

At breakfast she chirped “Hiya captain!” and hugged him tight, ignoring the groaning about his aching head. Benny shot him a speaking look from across the table that said Dean’s cabin was getting turned inside out in the near future. Jo crossed her arms and Charlie knew she was going to get hauled off to the bridge and have the whole story demanded of her. Meg just raised her eyebrows and slurped her coffee, clearly in deal-with-this-after-caffeine mode. And Sam trailed in after Dean, just as he was slapping at the pills Benny slid across the table, and looked inspired, and picked up Benny’s water glass to hold out to Dean.

Dean made a face at Sam’s expression and the glass. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.” It came out automatically, surprising Sam himself from the looks of it, and it made Dean smile, and that made delight break over Sam’s face.

Charlie smiled. A good day, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *handwaves any and all medical stuff frantically*


End file.
